I laid the flower on the table beside him, flattening out the five scarlet petals, and resumed my seat.
I saw instantly that he recognized the symbol, and knew what it meant, doubtless better than I did.
He glanced from it to me, then round the room, crossed to the door, opened it quickly, saw Mishka was standing outside, on guard, and closed it again.
“Now, who are you and what do you know?” he asked quietly. “Speak low; the very walls have ears.”
“I know very little, but I surmise—”
“It is safer to surmise nothing, Mr. Wynn. I only ask what you know!”
“Well, I know that some member of the League, the organization, that this represents,” I pointed to the flower, “murdered an Englishman.”
“Mr. Carson, a journalist. You knew him?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and I am going to Petersburg as his successor.”
“Then you have great need to act with more caution than—pardon me—you have manifested so far,” he rejoined. “Well, what more?”